


tomorrow will be better

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Domestic, Dunkirk, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Protection, bad day, low confidence, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry has a bad day, but Louis has promises to keep for him.





	tomorrow will be better

**Author's Note:**

> Storytime: I was hacked???  
> Just kidding. I've decided after a lot of thinking to repost most of my fics. I deleted them at 2am in an angry, emotional hizzy and then of course woke up full of regret. SO. Minus a few of the older ones that were never really good anyway, here are my fics again. I apologize for all the e-mails you've gotten from me today. I'm going to just pretend I'm not upset over the lost comments and kudos. I'm fine. Really! Totally fine. But here they are again! Thank you for all the love you have given me. I’m not as invested in fic writing as I’ve been in the past, but who knows if I’ll get back into it.

It was a bad day to be Harry Styles.

He was in Holland, a long week of filming under his belt. He was getting an average of three hours of sleep a night and eating less than just eight hundred calories a day, even though he was supposed to be bulking up for the film, he could tell he was losing weight ever so slowly, even though he was still at a healthy weight for his size and height. His wrist was acting up again, even after he’d had surgery on it weeks ago, which meant he might have to again. He was due back home to London for a few days, but Jeff had requested he go into the studio for some last minute edits, signing things off, rechecking, which Harry knew right away would take hours. He was nothing but grateful, but right now it was hard standing on his own two feet. He couldn't for the life of him remember any of his lines that day on set, which troubled him to no end, even though he was told it was no issue. Fionn had told him countless times that he’d gone through the same a hundred times, that sometimes you just had an off day and it was nothing to get upset over. But Harry was Harry, and Harry was a perfectionist, and he beat himself up over the smallest things. He could practically see the headlines now - that he truly had been given this role for his name, that he wasn’t a real actor, that someone else deserved this more than he did. When he got into this headspace, it was hard to get him out of it. After quite literally crying on the floor of his hotel room for forty five minutes, forgoing lunch because the anxiety in his stomach filled him up just the same, he stumbled through hours and hours of training at the gym, ignoring the lightheaded feeling he had, the adrenaline, the small voice in the back of his head that whispered _Call Louis. Talk to him. Don’t hold this in._

He was having a bad day, and although Harry very rarely second-guessed himself, very rarely thought “Huh, maybe I am a big joke” he certainly did today. Harry never really let himself get into a bad place, a place where he felt anxious and alone and frightened, but today he let the dark cloud hover over him. He surrendered to it. He let it consume him. He spent his entire life making other people feel good about themselves, but now he needed some of that kindness and positivity as well.

When Harry had a bad day, he never told anyone. If he spent half the night crying and doubting himself, nobody would know the wiser when he woke up in the morning, a smile on his face and an expensive shirt adorning his body. When he was insecure about his hair, or his acne, he would fret about it to himself but nobody else. When Harry fought a battle, it was just that - Harry’s battle. Nobody else’s.

He would do things to cheer himself up. Write in a journal. Find a new recipe online. Change his sheets. Draw himself a bath and get himself just drunk enough to remember to get out when the water was cold, but tipsy enough that he went to bed giggling to himself. He’d shut off his phone. Go to the studio, write a few songs. Spend time with his friends, Nick and Jeff and Glenne, Cal if he wasn't busy, ask them to distract him. He’d spend time with his husband and their children. His girls did everything for him; they were the lights of his life. Louis was a beacon in a storm.

But today, he had nothing. His journal was shoved into the bottom of his bag, collecting dust. He had no inspiration, no baths to draw and none of his children were there for him to kiss. He was miles away from home, cold and shivering on set with sand in his eyes and holes in his boots and his heart. He was fighting a battle, and he was alone, and he was drowning - on and off the set.

He had always been told he was good at taking care of people. He was patient and soft, his voice as warm as melted honey in a cup of tea. His hands were always open for a cuddle, a squeeze, a hug. He liked to nuzzle, to coddle, to rub backs and play with hair and give kisses, if needed. He was a little spoon at heart; he loved being cuddled up to with arms wrapped around his stomach and rubbing the small amount of chub that hung off of his slim waist and sides, soft breath at the back of his neck and gentle comfort surrounding him. Harry was confident, of course he was. But he was also soft and sensitive and could get lost in his head at times. Sometimes all he needed was some comfort, some quiet moments of just him and a loved one, usually his husband.

However he would drop everything if someone, anyone else needed to be cuddled, cared for, loved. Whether it was a fan or his mother, his protective nature never changed. That didn’t change when he became a father, not one bit. If even, he became more of a “papa bear” than he already was. He was there through peeing the bed, nightmares and monsters in closets, he was at the other side of the room with his husband at the other, ready to catch his firstborn daughter as she took her first steps. He was there through knee scrapes and broken bones, through runny noses and throwing up in the middle of the night and fears of the unknown during the first day of school. Fiercely protective, ready to jump in front of a moving bus if he had to if it meant his husband and family would be safe. Harry consistently put himself second when someone he loved was hurting, and that was one of Louis’ many favorite qualities about him, even if it meant that Harry himself would be hurting or upset, which was never favorable for Louis. Harry was always the stronger one in the couple. He was bigger in physicality but also in his heart. His strength was admirable. Louis had seen him finish a concert with a broken foot, worried as he was when he’d seen it happen, and seen Harry’s wince turn quickly into his usual grin when he was on a stage. Louis had been there when Harry cried his eyes out when he was eighteen and the hate had become too much, or when he would throw up three times just an hour before one of their shows during their first few tours. He was there when Harry would call him at three in the morning after a bad interaction with paparazzi, wishing he could be physically there for Harry. It hurt Louis knowing Harry’s panic over his, and their children’s, safety, especially as the paparazzi became more relentless. Louis knew if Harry had it his way, Louis and their three daughters would have a safe bubble wrapped around the three of them at all times. But that was impossible. Harry simply had to trust in himself, and in his husband, that they were all going to be okay.

 

Louis had also been there through the growth spurt - both physical and mental. He was there through the floral suits and the hair braiding, Harry asking Louis to paint his fingernails before a show, and being proud when people asked him about it. Harry had more tattoos, he had a stronger attitude about himself and his life. He grew happy with his body, his crooked nose and lazy eye and small pudge of his belly, that Louis constantly doted over. Louis watched Harry teach these same values to their daughters, teach them that self-love was most important of all. He had put himself out there and auditioned for a film, completely out of his comfort zone, and gotten the part. He’d taken initiative onstage, he’d given free tickets to fans just because he wanted to. He was an advocate of women’s rights and talked a lot about his family and how fatherhood had changed him. He was a strike of lightning in an otherwise cloudy, bleak world. Louis loved him. He loved him so much.

No matter how many good days Harry had, it didn’t mean those cancelled out the bad. Harry never made it obvious when he’d had a bad day, but Louis could tell. He always could tell when it came to Harry.

 

It had started with his text, short and brief. _Bad morning. Be home later than I thought, I’ll call when I can. Send the girls a kiss. I love you. x. H._ that sent Louis into a flurry of concerns, endless possibilities flooding through him. Being a father had only made him more anxious about his family’s safety, especially Harry, who was traveling a ton, with a fractured wrist he never seemed to remember to wrap. He was losing sleep and forgetting to eat three meals a day and drink enough water, and he was at the gym more often than not. Louis couldn’t help but worry for him.

  


When Harry had tossed down his bag when he’d come home that evening, wincing and checking that his laptop was safely nestled inside afterward, Louis could immediately tell that something was wrong.

He looked tired, for starters, especially tonight. This wasn’t unusual, seeing as he’d just traveled from Holland to their London home. He still had on his usual grey sweatshirt. This particular sweatshirt was his favorite, one that he wore time and time again. It was a ratty old thing; the hood quite literally held together by two strings. But Harry loved it, and it kept him warm during his plane ride or train commutes, so Louis didn’t mind him wearing it if it meant Harry was warm and comfortable.

Harry had never had great posture either - even as tall and lanky as he was, he still tended to slouch when he walked. But today, his shoulders had a definite droop to them, as if he was trying to conceal from the world that he was six feet tall. His hands were limp by his thighs. Louis spied bloody knuckles, which meant Harry had purposely forgone boxing gloves at the gym. He made a mental note to wrap them up for him later.

His eyes had deep circles under them, and they were slightly puffy around the corners. Blessed with having high cheekbones, Harry naturally had deep set eyes. Louis knew this puffiness was a result of silent tears, tears that Harry’s body spewed out sometimes when it all became _too much_. His shoulders, broad and strong, would shake quietly, and his nose would scrunch up, and he would sob silently into his hands, his big, strong boy looking like his seventeen year old self. He’d keep his mouth shut, maybe a whimper or two emitting from his lips, because the last thing he wanted was to be the center of attention when he was sad. Louis wasn’t used to seeing Harry crumble, but when he did it killed him. He blinked away the mental image he had of Harry crying all by himself. He wouldn’t think of that today. He wouldn’t think of the dark place Harry’s head sometimes got to. He wouldn’t.

Harry looked weak tonight, like he hadn’t eaten in hours. His wrist was wrapped up tightly in a bandage, he had an off look in his eyes. Louis stared at his knuckles, stared at the way Harry used physical pain to mask the mental pain. Louis’ heart faltered at the sight. Harry’s upper lip trembled slightly when he locked eyes with Louis, his face gaunt and sullen. This wasn’t his Harry. This wasn’t his boy.

“Sweetheart,” Louis whispered. He opened up his arms, Harry inhaling deeply and stepping into his embrace. Suddenly, they were eighteen and sixteen again. Harry slouched down so that his forehead met the crease between Louis’ shoulder and his neck, his body shuddering with a quiet whine, and then he was crying.

“Petal,” Louis sighed. “Sit down, petal. Come here. Come on, Harry,” he pressed gently until Harry nodded, following Louis to the sofa, where they collapsed in a heap over each other. Louis was about to start crying himself at the sound of Harry’s strangled tears, and he knew Harry was trying to keep it to himself.

“Sweet boy,” Louis whispered. “You’re alright. Let it out. Come on. Let it all out. Nobody is judging you. You’re home and safe.”

Harry inhaled sharply, a sound that made Louis wince, before he gasped and sobbed, his breath hot on Louis’ neck. Louis tugged Harry into his lap, Harry’s legs at an awkward angle. He shifted, adjusting himself so he was seated better on Louis’ legs, Louis stroking the strong, broad shoulders of his back as Harry straddled him. Louis tucked one hand underneath Harry’s sweatshirt, sliding a small hand up Harry’s lower back. His free hand stroked the back of Harry’s head, his soft hair tickling Louis’ fingers.

“I’m right here, baby,” Louis whispered straight into Harry’s ear, his shuddered sobs leaving wet marks on Louis’ t-shirt, probably snot too, but Louis didn’t care one bit. “Tomorrow will be a better day for you, I promise. I need you to...I need you to be positive for me, okay?"

Harry sniffed loudly, leaning back off of Louis’ body to look at him for the first time since he came home.

“Oh, honey,” Louis whispered sadly. Harry’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes rimmed and bloodshot. His lips looked like he’d been snacking on them for hours; chapped and reddened and sore. His usual strong, brave, selfless boy was crumbling to pieces.

"What's in that pretty head of your's? What's on my baby's mind?" Louis whispered carefully. He held the sides of Harry's face in his hands, stroking his temple gently. Harry simply shook his head, leaning into Louis' touch. Louis took this as _I'll tell you later. Later, please._

“I promise you, whatever happened today, when you’re ready to talk about it, I will be here. I’m always here for you.”

Harry nodded slowly and solemnly. His hands found Louis’ shoulders, and Louis’ arms wound around his thin waist. Harry curled back into Louis’ lap, his eyes sliding shut as exhaustion took over him. Louis tucked his chin over Harry’s head, holding him as tightly as he possibly could.

“Tomorrow will be better, sweetheart. I promise. I promise you. Be positive for me, honey. Tomorrow will be so much better.”

And sitting there, by the fireplace, the two men wrapped up so tightly together, Harry believed Louis. Today was awful, but tomorrow would be better.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I want to stress that I don't believe this really happens, but I a) hope Harry does have someone to look after him and b) I think, or I hope, that Harry has a mindset that yes, today is bad, but tomorrow will be better. I wanted to explore the idea of him having an off day. I don't know. Comments and kudos always appreciated. xo


End file.
